


Into The Viper Pit

by prisonmechanic



Series: Orion Pax the Bastard Son [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dumb But Good, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Orion talks about both things breifly, Robots in Clothing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), The Decepticons are good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonmechanic/pseuds/prisonmechanic
Summary: The firstborn Bastard son of Ultra Magnus is sent as tribute to the war of Kaon. He expects to be used for the mechs unsavoury desires, but end up finding a home among warriors and Assasins.In fact, They're very fond of his stories.Updated daily for valentines day 2021
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: Orion Pax the Bastard Son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156793
Comments: 115
Kudos: 245





	1. Part 1

They bind Orion's wrists in bismuth strands; beautifully coloured and delicate enough that with his additional armour, he'd likely be able to snap them.

But Orion does not. It was explained to him, just the week before, that this was his duty. A duty he knows is not something you want to do, but something you must for the greater good of the Autobot machine. So he does not snap the glittering bind on his wrists, despite the fear that trickles down his spine like cold oil. He has a duty, and Orion Pax has always known he was a cog in the great Autobot machine. 

Though. He expected some form of a send-off. Maybe from his half brother even. But no, Sentinel didn't even say goodbye. 

He knows he's that bastard son, but to realize very suddenly that no one cares enough to come to see you off settles like a rock in his fuel tanks. 

That does not mean he doesn't know this is a political move from his sire. As the firstborn bastard, he poses a threat to his younger legitimate heir brother; Sentinel. His mere existence is a threat to the throne, he's known as such since his centennial. He knows by offering him up as a sacrifice that Ultra Magnus is securing Sentinel Prime's ascension to the throne. Why? He doesn't know. Orion Pax has never once wanted to be in power, and Sentinel Prime is a bumbling idiot on a good day. He hopes in the back of his processor that Magnus has a plan to put the second-born heir and their youngest sibling, Elita on the throne.

As they crest the salt flats, Kaon comes into view and Orion reminds himself to forget the court he's come from and focus on the task at hand. When his Magnus first said that he was to be given to the Warlord of Kaon as a tribute, his limbs had gone cold and had never quite warmed up since. The rumours, if they were true, meant that this was more of a death March than anything. The Warlord, a Lord Megatron of Tarn, had heaps of rumours surrounding him. But the fact he was being handed over as tribute ticked a specific one. Many mechs had entered Kaon's keep, more specifically the lord's berth and many of them were never seen again.

And though Orion never liked gossip, he wished now he had paid more attention. More specifically, he wished to know if he was marching towards a mech that wanted to drink his energon or one that wanted to rape him to death. War frames were so much larger than their civilian counterparts and Orion Pax the bastard of Iacon steeled himself for the worst. His limbs were cold, he shook, but his optics were cold and resigned.

It was rumoured, the Lord of Kaon has appetites that could never be satisfied. 

Kaon's keep is large and sits at the back of the city, near its tallest point of the city. Unlike Iacon which is surrounded by large red Metal woods, Kaon is surrounded by salt flats that seem to stretch on for days. The open-air is hot, almost too hot, and Orion both dreads and anticipates for the moment he can strip down to his natural plating.

When they reach the edge of the city, their knights announce their arrival to the gatekeepers. The large doors swing open and somehow a new wave of heat washes over him. Iaconian envoys are not allowed within the city walls, traders yes. But not nobles and a full entourage of knights. The wagon of tribute gifts wheels in, with Orion on the back of it. He doesn't look at anyone in the optics, instead of watching as he is pulled further into his doom. 

There is no ceremony for a bastard. He's known that his whole life, yet still the flippant nature of the handoff settles like a rock in his spark chamber. The gatekeepers and a select few guards eye him, but it's the carrier model that looks him over that draws his attention. 

Orion is so curious he doesn't notice the guards exchanging words and the gate closing until there's a loud enough slam that makes him jump in his seat. The carrier model jumps too, though Orion would have assumed he was used to the gate having lived here. He doesn't linger much longer, in dead moving to the front of the wagon, and taking the reins of the Bolt-colts. 

As they make their way to the keep Orion takes in the city. There are no defined lanes of traffic or civilians and so the roads are a mess of mechs heading in every single direction. Most of them are around Orion's size when he's in full armour, but none of them are sporting any additional kibble or helm crests. Undressed, he assumes he'd probably only stand at about their chest for the most parts. Everything is a rust, sand or salt Colour, and there is very little of the pristine gunmetal Grey of Icon save for the residents, who are mostly Grey. Orion feels slightly off-put, as the red and blues of his plating stick out dramatically. Even the carrier, who he now assumes is part of Lord Megatron's court **,** is a dull sandy blue. 

The roads are smooth in only the way millennia of road traffic can produce. Kaon is an old city, but a new global power thanks to their energon-soaked lord. It would be much more impressive if it wasn't so terrifying. 

There is another gate as they approach the keep. This time, as the doors open and close, they feel like a death sentence. Orion Paz opens and closes his optics, trying to reenter himself. They come to a stop just in front of the main door. 

There are three seekers stood in front of the door and they come down the stairs in a chorus of clacks as their thrusters tap on the stairs. 

"Who is this?" the first one, who Orion assumes is the trine leader asks. 

"Tribute," The carrier model says, though it comes out of a pre-generated voice box as a baritone static laden monotone. 

"From Iacon? They sent us a-- a what exactly?" the trine leader asks, motioning his claws at Orion. 

When the carrier doesn't answer, the red optics of all three seekers land on him. "Well," The one on the left asks, "What can you do?" 

Out of all the questions to be asked, that was no one of them. 'Who are you?' and 'Are you still sealed?' were probably at the top of the list. But not, 'What can you do?'. What can Orion do? He takes a moment, resets his vocalizer and answers as stoically as he can manage. 

"I'm a trained archivist and-" 

"A scribe!" the seeker says, throwing his servos up in the air, "Primus only knows how Iacon knew we needed one. My lord can never keep his Fragging data pads in order." 

A startled cough leaves Orion's throat before he can stop it. The language-- in front of a royal, even if he is a bastard--

Before he can do much, swift and sharp claws catch and slice the bismuth ropes that bind his wrists and Orion is freed. That, somehow, is more astonishing. The seeker, the purple one on the right this time, beacons him to follow. So he does. Up the stairs and through the reinforced doors of the keep into the main hall. Orion makes note of every twist and turns they take deeper into the belly of the fortress. Surprisingly, they go further down, like a great beast swallowing him down its gullet. 

Eventually, they come to a door with two guards at its front. They bow to the seekers and eye Orion curiously but say nothing.

The pure rudeness of the Seekes is on display again as they don't knock before entering the inner sanctum in a heap of gossiping limbs. 

The first glance Orion gets of His new Lord and Master Megatron of Tarn is a peek through seeker wings. He's surprisingly plain, the same gunmetal Grey as a lot of the mechs around, with swirls of red on his chest. His optics are down on the table, not even bothered by the loud entrance of the seekers. Eventually, the screaming becomes too much and he looks up from his work. 

Ruby optics sweep the small office, and land on Orion. He frowns. The chill that was in his limbs reaches his spark chamber and he shivers in fear. His frame is littered with scars and he wears no armour to hide it. Orion is almost jealous but fear wins out. He stands near the door, waiting to be ordered to his Lord's chambers. 

"Starscream, Who's this?" The Warlord asks, flicking the end of his stylus towards Orion. His optics are caught on his lips, and the way fangs dentae peek out with every word. Perhaps he really does just want Orion's energon. 

Starscream's wings flick and Orion recognizes the wing speak as smug, "Well Iacon finally sent us something useful. I've been saying for years now you need someone to manage your work and distribute duties--" 

"Iacon sent me a scribe?" Megatron asks, but he doesn't sound surprised, just softly confused. Then his tone sours, "They're sending mechs now? How Fragging stupid are they?" 

The idea of being unwanted by the Warlord hadn't even crossed Orion's processor until that moment and a new terror wraps around his spark. He could be thrown to the streets and that's only a fate slightly better than death. Orion's never had to look for work or housing before, if he can't learn quick enough he'll starve out there. 

"Quite," Starscream agrees, "I'll send a message to avoid it in the future. But still! A scribe! You've needed an assistant for so long." 

Megatron scoffs, "You just want him around to help with your paperwork. But fine. There would be no use in sending him back. They'd probably execute him for some made-up failure anyways. Have him set up in the west wing and then send him down." 

And that's the end of it. The seeker and his trine, who Orion also finds terrifying, walk him out and over to the west wing. 

The room they bring him to is large and is more like a chamber than a servant's room. The door opens to a small sitting room. There's a washracks on one side and an archway to a berth room on the other. It's smaller than the rooms he had with his carrier but much larger than he'd expect to be given as a scribe. 

Of which he's still confused. Surely, if he's spending so much time with Megatron then the scribe position is a cover for his real duties. Though, that wouldn't explain why he has his own room if he's to be in his Lord's berth. 

"This is Skywarp, Thundercracker," Starscream says, making small chat while Orion looks around, "I'm Starscream. And you are?" 

"Orion," He says softly, "Orion Pax of Iacon." 

Skywarp hums, "That sounds familiar--" It should. Orion is the Magnus' firstborn son after all. But as a bastard he had no real political gain, so he doesn't blame Skywarp for not recognizing him, nor Starscream for that matter. 

"Were your things in the wagon?" 

Seeing as they really didn't expect Orion to live through the first few nights, nor did they care for his piles of datapad he had hoarded, he was sent with nothing. And once he was gone, well it wouldn't be his Sire's responsibility to supply his needs anymore. That responsibility fell on his new Lord if he was merciful. 

"No," Orion says, "I only have what's in my subspace." 

All three of them stare at him like he's gone mad, but it's Skywarp who actually speaks, "I-- they what?"

Starscream chimes in afterwards, "I will never understand Iaconians--" 

And because you can't have one seeker without the other two, Thundercracker shakes his halm and mumbles to himself, "I'll send for the metallurgist, and the seamstress and the armour--" he continues on a list a mile long and Orion misses half of it, confused why he'd even need all of those things to begin with. 

"Come," Starscream motions, "Since you have nothing to unpack then I'll bring you back to Megatron. I'm sure he's eager to put you to work. I think Scavenger should have set up your desk by now." 

Orion doesn't know who Scavenger is, and does not ask. The words 'put you to work' take up too much space in his helm bouncing around for him to care about much else. He wonders, with a trickle of fear, if he'll be fragged over the desk. Immediately he cuts off that thought and nods at the seekers, waiting for them to lead him down the stairs back towards his Lord's office. 

They climb the stairs back down, and Orion makes note of where his room is relative to the office, in case he needs a hasty retreat.

When they enter the room, again without knocking, there is a smaller desk set up to the left of Megatron's who is still writing something down with a fever Orion thinks resembles a poet. He doesn't comment on it. 

Slowly, he slinks towards the desk, where a few datapads are already sat waiting for him. They're new, and though Orion didn't expect that, he's not sure what he was expecting. He flips through them as Starscream and his trine wave themselves out, no doubt off to do more important things than show a scribe around. 

"I need those looked over for spelling and Grammer," Megatron finally says, not looking up from his work, "Then you can run them down to Soundwave in communications. Ask one of the guards to show you the way." 

Still half-convinced this is all an act, Orion sets to work. 

* * *

Orion loses himself in the work much as he used to in the hall of records. But By the time he's finished sending messages with Soundwave (who turns out, is the mech who picked him up at the gate) it's time for evening fuel. 

Soundwave makes a very good work partner tho. He's silent for the most part, unlike Starscream. And he's very skilled, though it's obvious that he's not formally trained. He organizes outgoing messages alphabetically, and Orion has set himself on teaching him in the IP numerical system once he can gain the mech's trust a little more. 

The dining hall is a little much for Orion. 

There are tables set out in the room that runs the length of the room and are set in rows. At the front of it is the head table. He spots Megatron easily enough, sat at the head table with Starscream and his trine at his side. There's an empty spot next to him as well, and it's then he realizes who Starscream is. 

Sat on the warlord's left side, but not garnishing any betrothal paints, means Starscream is Megatron's second in command. The empty chair to his right must be reserved for his third. He's definitely made himself a fool in front of Starscream for sure, and he's horrified to realize he's not been using proper etiquette in front of the seeker all day. 

Soundwave seats Orion at one of the lower tables, surrounded by unfamiliar war frames. Soundwave trots off himself, and Orion is horrified to find he's also been rude to the third in command when he sits himself to Megatron's right. 

At this point, he's quite convinced he's not going to be killed, in one way or another. But that doesn't mean he's quite safe yet. He tries not to think of being asked to join Megatron in berth that night. Instead, he focuses on the roudy group around him.

He's surprised to find Soundwave has sat him with the warriors. They don't even really notice him for the most part. That is until a small servo comes up and touches Orion's arm. 

"Hey," The small mech says, "I'm Jazz. You're the new scribe, right? From Iacon?" Jazz is white and he stands out as the smallest and most brightly coloured mech at the table. But he seems nice enough. It doesn't hurt to have friends. 

"Orion Pax, of Iacon," Orion nods at him, "And yes. Actually. It seems I've kind of fallen into the position." 

"Good," Jazz says smoothly, his voice a beautiful timber, "It's gonna be nice not having my reports always getting lost. We needed a bookkeeper." 

Fuel is served, and servants come out to place bowls of warmed fermented energon in front of them. Orion cringes and lets his sit to cool as the other mechs dig in quickly. He doesn't know how all the mechs can drink warm energon in such a hot city. 

"Already flirting with the new blood?" someone across the table taunts, making Orion sputter, "Jazz you've berthed over half the keep, let the mech breath for pit's sake!" 

"Shut up Vortex! Just cuz I got a larger track record than you don't mean you get to be better about it!" Jazz yells back, but the smile on his lip plates suggests it's all in good fun. 

Orion can't get over how freely the Kaonites swear. Worse than that is the amount of berth talk so flippantly tossed around. In Iacon, an unmated mech having fragged even a paid whore is something of a scandal. Here it seems to be the Norm. Orion feels his faceplates flush. 

"Hey, no need to be all embarrassed," Jazz says, nudging his side, "I'm sure Iacon got some different ideas about interface but sleeping around is normal here. And I ain't gonna frag you--" 

"Yet!" Someone down the table yells. 

"I swear to the unmaker I will frag your aft next time you're in the springs, Scrapper!" Jazz stands as he yells, hopping up on the bench to see over all of the hulking war frames. 

Orion snorts. It's scary here, he decides, but at least it's more entertaining than the silent dinners he had to share with his sire. 

Jazz sits back down and picks up the bowl of Energon in front of him. He slurps as he lifts the bowl to his lips and  _ chugs  _ the energon like a starved street mech. When he's done, he drops the bowl and wipes the corners of his mouth with the back of his servos. Orion sits, looking back to his lukewarm serving, and notices there's no spoon. 

Oh. 

Orion picks up the bowl and takes a small sip. It's tangy on his tongue, but he's more scandalized by his own actions. Drinking straight from the bowl? His sire would disown him if he ever found out. 

But, he supposes Ultra Magnus already has done that, hasn't he? 

So Orion takes a swig from the bowl, and revels in the small rebellion. Here, in Kaon, if he can survive the nights in his Lord's berth then perhaps he can rebel more. Perhaps, even take a layer of armour off occasionally. 

"There's a heatwave coming tomorrow," Vortex says, motioning to Orion, "I heard it's cold in Iacon." 

"The city is in the forest. The trees suck up most of the solar power, so the ground doesn't heat up like in the flats," Orion explains, putting his bowl down, "I'm afraid to admit the heat here is… Much for my cooling system."

"Cools down to near freezing at night," Jazz says in warning, "Almost to absolute Zero during the cold months. I hope you brought a cloak." 

He'd have to ask Thundercracker about that seamstress after all. 

* * *

Megatron sends for him in the evening.

He shakes all the way down to the pit of his office. He knocks and is asked to come in. 

A pile of datapads is shoved into his servos, "Take these to Soundwave. They need to be sent first thing in the morning."

Orion stares down at the stack he's been handed, "Is that… IsIs that all my Lord?" 

Megatron pauses. He pauses his writing long enough to look at Orion, actually looks. His optics drag up and down his frame, assessing him by some standards Orion can't possibly fulfill. It takes all his courage not to flee right there and then. 

And then. 

And then Megatron looks back down at his paperwork and waves Orion off, "That's all. Go get settled in your chambers. We have a lot to do tomorrow and will be working late." 

Orion turns, taking the stack with him. 

He's starting to get the idea he's genuinely wanted as a scribe. 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion Learns the hard way WHY mechs in kaon don't frequently wear clothing, along with the political workings of a Warlord's territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART 2, There's a small change to the tags (Added Robots on clothing)
> 
> Please enjoy!

Orion sits beside Jazz again at breakfast. He feels better today. Now he knows he's got a use and one he somewhat enjoys, he feels lighter somehow. He's not getting executed or even taken to berth. He feels better being a cog in the great Decepticon machine. He has a purpose, which is more than he was given back at the palace in Iacon. 

"Well good morning to you! What are you smiling about? " Jazz says, sliding in between Orion and Vortex. He physically pushes Vortex aside and slots himself in. It's surprising how much power his small frame produces.

"Good morning," Orion hums in response, watching as a mech limps past them, giving a small touch to Jazz's shoulder. 

Jazz nudges his side, "Told ya I'd frag Scrapper in the aft. Anyways, you're in a better mood today, no anxiety in your field." 

Orion Pax blinks down at Jazz. His… What? 

Jazz  _ somehow _ senses the confusion and his visor flashes. He clears his throat and motions with a roll of his wrist, "You're field ain't so nervous today?"

"Pardon. My… What?" 

His mouth gapes open, and for a moment Orion fears he's said something wrong. But Jazz just nudges Vortex beside him and then points to Orion, "Hey, 'tex. Orion here can't read EM fields." 

While Orion doesn't know what an  _ EM field  _ is supposed to be, the abject horror on Vortex's face says more than words can. When Jazz explains that every other mech in the room can tell the emotions of those around them with an Electric Magnetic Field, Orion has to stop sipping his fuel to piece together what exactly he's been missing. 

"I-- I've never even heard of that," He admits. He's missing a whole other sense that mechs here just… Have. "I-- maybe Iaconians don't… Don't have that?" 

"We should get you to Knockout," Jazz says immediately, turning to Vortex, "Hey. Send that down the table. See if the doc has some time for a check-up today." 

Vortex nods and sends the message down the line of the table. It reminds Orion of a game he used to play as a child as he watched one mech pass the message to the next. 

"I have a lot of work to do today, Lord Megatron's orders," He argues to Jazz. He's not sure if he can skip work for a simple medical check-up to look for a piece of hardware that isn't there. He doesn't want to anger Megatron on his second day at work. The Warlord's anger is legendary. 

Besides, he fears slightly that if he's found out to be a faulty cog in the Decepticon machine he may be seen as a liability. And then he'd be on the streets and likely stave in a gutter somewhere. 

"Tomorrow then," Jazz says and gives a determined nod, "Primus mech, you have no idea what you're missing." 

As they eat, there's a stray thought that crosses his processor. 

Has the lord and his council felt every bit of fear he's accidentally projected while working with them? 

* * *

The first item on the list is the war room. Soundwave walks him to the chambers behind the main throne room and then through one more door into the strategy meeting. Thankfully, they're the first to arrive. The room is dimly lit, mostly illuminated by a hollow map in the middle. There are chairs scattered around it with no rhyme or reason. Soundwave sits Orion beside him this time, and Orion assumes it's so he can take notes. He's proved correct when Soundwave hands him a datapad and a stylus. 

They're the first to arrive, but others file in soon after; Starscream and his trine, A large femme by the name of Strika, an assassin, and a few others before Lord Megatron graces them with his presence. He's only two seats down from the Warlord, a perfect place to write down everything that happens. On his other side, is the assassin, who a warrior refers to as Deadlock in the idle chatter before the war meeting starts. 

Megatron sits, the hefty weight of his frame making the seat ominously creek under it, "Starscream, you may begin." 

Orion readies his stylus as the seeker stands. Suddenly, the holomap springs to life, casting the room in a blue glow as the Kaonite territory comes into view. There's a red line outlining the Warlord's lands, encompassing most of the south. Kaon, Tarn, Vos, Helex and Tesaurus along with a few smaller cities and the salt flats that encompass them all fall within the distinctive red line. On the one side, far off. Near Tarn, there is a set of markers that Orion recognizes as planned battalion patrols. They're focused on the border of Polyhex, near its lowest point. 

"Polyhex has sent another messenger," Starscream begins, "The Emperor Venture threatens that if we do not pull the patrols from the Tarn border than he'll be forced to retaliate." 

Strika slams her fist down on the table hard enough that the map flickers like it may go out. It doesn't, but Orion makes a note to send a technician to look over its wiring anyways, "I only have the patrols there because he keeps sending spies into our courts in Tarn! And who does Venture think he is demanding we move patrols from our own lands?!" 

Orion Pax knows of Emperor Venture. He's visited the palace in Iacon a few times, more frequently in the last few years. Emperor Venture is a paranoid mech and came to Ultra Magnus several times claiming that Warlord Megatron was eyeing his lands. Ultra Magnus had brushed him off as a crazy old mech who couldn't see Megatron's motivations. Orion hadn't known exactly what that had meant at the time but was starting to now partially. 

But. 

But, Emperor Venture hasn't been in power for millennia for no reason. He's old, and likely has processor rot, but he's a sneaky mech. it wouldn't be out of the question that he's been looking to start a fight in order to take the mineral mines in Tarn for himself. Orion keeps that little tidbit to himself but makes a mental note to ask about sending an investigator down to the mines to see if there have been any offers from Venture's court to purchase the loyalties of the miners there. 

Megatron grumbles, "The warriors are still weary from the concurring of Helex. I don't want to aggravate Polyhex." 

"You can not be suggesting we fold to his demands! That's practically inviting him to come right in and take the territory for himself," Starscream throws his servos up, moving around the table to pull up what battalions are stationed there. 

"I'm not," Megatron hums, choosing his words carefully, "But maybe some sort of appeasement--" 

"I'm afraid my lord, that none of us have sparklings to marry off to Polyhex," Soundwave mumbles, just above a whisper. 

"I heard Polyhexians like music," Deadlock chimes in. Though he speaks, Orion catches the mech looking at his datapad. He wonders if he's noticed the notes he's been making in the margins. He knows it's above his pay grade to even suggest sending investigators anywhere, but he had hoped to slide it in somewhere under the table. On Megatron's behalf of course. 

"What are we going to do? Send him a harp? And just hope that he finds it pleasing?" Starscream sneers. 

"I don't care what we send him," Strika's sneers, "The patrols stay in Tarn." 

Orion Pax speaks softly, more to himself than anyone else, "It probably wouldn't hurt to send a diplomatic party though." 

Only Soundwave hears him. Through his visor, Orion can't exactly figure out what he's thinking but assumes it can't be anything resembling good. Even as a bastard prince he was never allowed to speak freely in court, as a scribe, he's sure there's a punishment for such a slight. He shuts his intake immediately and puts his nose back into his notes. Hopefully, Soundwave won't say anything. 

Unfortunately for Orion, he does. 

"Orion Pax has a point," He says in that dreadful monotone speech, "Sending a delegation to Polyhex may be wise." 

"Megatron has never played by those old fraggers rules. The old guard, Polyhex included are so-- fake. It doesn't matter if we sent anyone, they'll just arrest us or something." Starscream says, optics landing on Orion. 

Orion is stiff. He didn't mean to have the attention put on him. Scribes are seen and not heard, but even worse would be to not answer him. 

"Polyhex sends a delegation to Iacon every summer. It's how all of the courts keep up with one another, set up marriages or well, avoid war. It's hard to kill the mechs you had tea with just a year ago," Then, Orion clears his vocalizer and brings up his main point, "Civilian frames fear you. There may be a benefit in befriending a court ruled by civilians. That is, my Lord if you do not intend on concurring them."

Across the table, Strika hums in thought. Scratching the underside of her battle mask, she motions to the border, "Could send the Second trine. Maybe Thundercracker too. A few mechs from Tarn's court as well. Just to… Make friends."

Starscream, now genuinely considering the prospect raises a digit and directly addresses Megatron, "It would, at the very least, prevent him from attacking us while our dignitaries are there. He wouldn't dare attack us with Warframes staying in his palace. At the very least we would strong-arm him into giving us time to prepare." 

"It would look bad on us," Megatron says, finally adding to the conversation again, "If we were to attack Emperor Venture right after our delegation leaves. I had no intention on attacking Polyhex, but if he was to attack first--" 

"If he was to attack first then that's his own fault for poking the Kaonite Warlord," Starscream brushes off, "Orion. Make a note to come to see me about choosing mechs to go to Polyhex." 

Orion makes the note. He already starts jotting down how high up in their military structure a mech has to be to not be offensive to the Emperor. He makes sure to sneak an investigator on the list as well, just to see if his suspicions about Venture are true. 

The meeting goes on from there. For the rest of it, Orion keeps his mouth shut, just in case. The first time it ended well, though he can't be sure it will end the same way a second time. He stays quiet, content to make notes in the margin about things he may need to sneak in and to just simply record the conversation. It's easy to work, and he doesn't get any off feelings from any of the mechs in the room. 

Except for Deadlock. 

Who keeps staring at what he's writing down. 

He tries not to focus on it. He focuses instead on Starscream's ramblings and Strika's rough responses. The meeting comes to a close only an hour before lunch is served In the common room. They all pour out of the room with Orion tight on Megatron's heels. He's sure his lord has notes after the meeting. Most importantly, he wants to escape Deadlock. 

He is not so lucky. 

Deadlock grabs Orion's arm, pulling him aside and back into the war room. He finches reflexively, worried he's somehow offended the mech. No one seems to notice his disappearance.

Orion tries not to feel fear, now that he knows the Warframes can sense it-- can feel it easier than feeling a summer breeze. But he can not hide it completely. He knows Deadlock can sense the fear. But he puts on a brave face anyways. 

"You can read," Deadlock says, looking not at Orion Pax, but at the door behind him, "And write." 

"I can," Orion says, more confused than scared now. Those are not the words he had expected from Deadlock's lips. 

"I-- I have a letter I wish to send. Scribe and I want your help," Deadlock says, but every word sounds like it's new on his tongue, or like he's figuring out how the sentence will end while he's saying it. 

"Oh, Alright. I can help you draft it at lunch then?" Well, that's easy. He can deliver the letter to Soundwave with the rest of Megatron's correspondence later. 

Deadlock nods curtly, and then immediately leaves the room, Leaving Orion in the war room alone and confused. He decides not to think about it too much and then scurried off to join Megatron. 

* * *

Lunch is an affair much like breakfast and dinner had been. The only difference this time is that Deadlock joins him at his usual spot beside Jazz. 

The days heatwave has also settled in, leaving the entire mess hall shimmering with hot drafts. Orion's engine is all but redlining, and his armour has a shine of condensation on the inside as it tries to cool his internals. Thankfully, the energon is served at room temperature today, though it doesn't help much. 

"And I want you to tell him I'm fine," Deadlock says, tapping the screen with his index claw, "and that I even got myself a really good job. I want him to know I got money now too if he ever needs anything." 

Orion nods, putting Deadlock's demands down on paper as eloquently as he possibly can with the heat fogging his processor. Sat between two frames in a room filled with warriors, Orion's exposed vents work overtime to try and cool his spark chamber. He does not complain, since no one else in the hall does.

"Oh, writing a letter to someone special?" Jazz asks, leaning around Orion to smirk at Deadlock. There's teasing in his tone, but Deadlock growls back at him, Not bothering with any words. 

"Okay," Orion says, shifting the letter over to Deadlock, "You just have to sign your name." 

The assassin doesn't take the stylus from him. Instead, he waves it off like it doesn't matter, "Just sign it for me." 

Orion, even with his processor close to melting, knows he can't just sign Deadlock's name at the bottom of an official document. The assassin sits at Megatron's head table, there is no way anyone would believe it was from him without his official signature. The mech is basically a Count. 

"It's more personal if you sign. He's not going to believe the letter is from you without your seal," Orion argues. His tone is clipped, and he's sure that the heat is starting to get to him. There is no way he would ever speak to someone of rank so harshly otherwise. 

That seems to make sense to Deadlock, who tips the stylus from Orion's servos. He pauses as soon as he turns to the datapad though and sneers. Orion starts to wonder if something he's written has offended Deadlock in some way, especially with the way Deadlock is showing off his fans. He does not expect the assassin's response. 

"I-- can't," He admits. s

Orion blinks, and when he speaks, steam comes from his mouth, "You can't?" 

"I can't… Write. Or read," He hisses. 

Jazz snorts and Deadlock snaps at him like a feral beast, "Half the army can't write! It's not weird!" 

Before it can escalate any further, Orion chimes in, "I could teach you. If you'd like." 

That declaws the mech. Both of them, and a few others around them for that matter. Several of them gape at him like he's grown a second head. 

"I'm a trained archivist," Orion explains, "I spent almost four decades in schooling for it. It wouldn't be difficult. Here." He pulls the datapad back from Deadlock and starts a new document. His helm swims, but he can still make out enough to figure out the glyphs for Deadlock's name. 

"Let's start with your name. The first Glyph is your honorific. So… 'Marquess'." he draws the glyph out large and slowly, and watches as Deadlock traces it onto the table in front of him. He nods, "Then your name. So, 'death' Followed by the Glyph for 'hidden away'. Those two go close together. Then it's just the city you're from." 

"Rodion," Deadlock mumbles, mesmerized as he traces his name onto the table over and over, memorizing each stroke. 

"Marquess Deadlock, of Rodion," Orion repeats. He passes the Datapad back to Deadlock and watches him write out the glyphs with the stylus. They're messy, and start to get smaller by the second glyph but he's learning quickly. 

"I ain't really a Marquess though," Deadlock mumbles as he writes his own name for the fourth time, "Megatron doesn't do noble titles." 

"Well, I'm sure it will impress this mech you're writing to," He says, and Deadlock's face lights up and he doubles down with his practice. 

"Hold onto it," Orion says, watching as Deadlock writing slowly becomes neater, "Sign it, and bring it back to me to be mailed. Alright?" 

Deadlock nods, but is too focused on making his glyphs look proper and neat to continue the conversation any further. 

Satisfied, and more than pleased with himself, Orion stands to return to his Lord's side. The motion though kicks his engine from idle into first gear, and with it comes a new wave of heat. He takes a few steps, a few more and then his vision blurs. 

He hits the ground before he can even piece together what is going on. 


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion wakes up in an embarrassing situation and also learns he can fulfill another purpose here in Kaon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three. I totally mix up which day Valentine's day was, so the last chapter will be posted Monday, and not Sunday.

Orion wakes, with his engine in high gear, fighting to keep himself warm. His optics shoot open, though they do not see much. Black pools at the edges and he can make out only a couple set of optics all looking down at him. He struggled for a moment, flailing his limbs out as he tries to get out of whatever is freeing him to his core. 

He splashes and only then realizes he's been placed in an ice bath. Awake now, his processor sort out priorities and he starts to warm again as it starts pumping warm hydraulic fluid down into his limbs. He relaxes, letting the solvent swish around him in the tub, entering his vents and then flowing out slightly warmer. 

"Are you mad?!" A Medic, Orion knows a Medic when he sees one, yells at him. He's cherry red, with red-ringed, black optics and just about as intimidating as all of the other warriors in the keep. 

Orion sinks down into the solvent feeling small. Panic spikes in his spark as the medic continues to rant, "Wearing all of that armour during a heatwave?! Half of your vents were covered by those stupid shoulder guards! You could have melted half of your processor!" 

Orion panics again, with the realization that he's  _ small.  _ His bare plating is exposed to the two mechs in the room with them, and he feels so exposed. He hasn't been in public without his Armor since he was a Sparklet, toddling behind his carrier in court. He can feel their optics on him, on his bare shoulder, pedes and hips. He covers himself with his arms as best as he can, trying to cover his shame. 

_ He's so small, _ his sire's word ring around in his processor like a bouncing ball,  _ Get him in some armour before he can embarrass me any more.  _

Worst of it, worse of all Megatron is standing beside the bath, opposite Knockout. Deadlock is at his side, lips in a deep scowl. Megatron looks stoic as usual, but his arms are crossed. 

Surely this is reason enough to punish him? Megatron was busy today, had said so himself. And now Orion Pax has taken his attention away from his duties. He really is a horrid and useless thing. 

Deadlock, thankfully steps in, tearing a sheet off of one of the tables. He drops it over the bath, and Orion uses it to cover himself. Pulling the wet sheet around himself doesn't hide his shame much, but it's a small mercy he's willing to be thankful for. 

"Don't soak the linens!" Knockout yells, not at him but at Deadlock who snarls back. 

"He's Fragging embarrassed," He hisses, "Nobles in the north like to cover themselves, you slag eater. Let the mech have some privacy!" 

For the first time he sees Megatron's face change. He looks surprised, his mouth slightly agape and his optics wide. He looks down at Orion, only for a brief moment before turning away, optics focusing on the door instead. 

Orion pulls the sheet tighter against his frame. 

Knockout clears his throat after the awkward silence, "Out. The both of you. Sorry my Lord but I believe he will need some privacy until we can get the poor mech something to wear." 

_____

Knockout is nice enough to give him a sheet to wrap himself in while they wait for the seamstress to arrive. It's not a lot to cover himself and doesn't hide his small stature, but it's a small mercy he's willing to take. Knockout doesn't stare either, nor make fun of him for being overly modest by Kaon's standards. 

"You shouldn't have done that you know," Knockout reprimands. 

"I know," Orion says, but doesn't know what he could have done differently to prevent it from happening again. So he apologizes, "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Knockout says, "You just about fried yourself. You need to tell someone when something is wrong, not bring yourself to an early grave."

"I--" Orion doesn't know what to say to that because he's so scared of being a bother to anyone that he doesn't even know who to tell without doing something to offend their hospitality. 

"I don't know what they do up in Iacon, but no one is going to shoot you for needing something. Primus, I can just about swim in your nerves," Knockout huffs, and then his expression softens, "I know it's difficult being in a new city. And I know the Kaonites are loud, but they're friendly." 

Thankfully the seamstress running into the room saves Orion any more embarrassment. With him, is another mech carrying a large stack of fabrics. Knockouts optics are already scanning them. He reaches out for one and the seamstress swats his servo away. 

Swats the Chief medical officer to the Warlord. 

Orion Pax is never going to get used to it here. 

"None for you," The seamstress huffs, "if I let you have your pick there'll be none left for the scribe."

Knockout crosses his arms, "Well the embroidery on my ballgown is getting loose. If you mended it I wouldn't be so interested in another!" 

"Vain little speedster, Back off before I get your Conjunx up here."

Knockout hisses through his vents but saunters out of the room with smooth rolls of his hips. He's not far. Orion hears him in the main medic bay room, but he's thankful for the little privacy he can get with the seamstress. 

"Now," He says, "Let's get a good look at you. Smaller than I'm used to. I'll have to special make you something later. Now, I'm not quite acquainted with Iaconian's styles, so at the very least what needs to be covered? Can't put you in too much because of the heatwave." 

"My codpiece," Because he misses his extra pelvic cover the most, "Ah, my hips? Shoulders of you're able." 

At the end of it, Orion walks out of the medical bay with bolt of light fabric wraped around his waist like a loincloth and secured in place with a jewelled pin. It's a beautiful purple and flows in the wind as he walks. He ends up not covering his shoulders but that's only to keep the vents there exposed as the heatwave rolls through. They send him off with a heavy oversized cloak for the night as well, and the promise to deliver some more options within the week. He thanks them both honestly because they've saved him a great shame. 

He does learn though, that the Kaonites only wear such fabrics on special occasions and to expect some odd looks for a while. Orion decides he can live with that. 

He takes the cloak and his stripped armour back to his room. Wasting time would be unwise and so he hurries back to Megatron's office to apologize. It is past mid-afternoon by the time he arrives, and he knocks tentatively, waiting to be let in. 

"Enter," A gruff voice says. 

Orion pushes the door open slowly, helm already bowed as to not meet Lord Megatron's optics. He swallows and stands in the doorway, "I'm sorry, my Lord. This inconvenience will not happen again." 

"You've shrunk,"

Orion does look up to see not anger or annoyance in the Warlords optics but confusion and a bit of surprise. Orion knows he's shorter without his armour by almost three feet, but he doesn't expect that to be such a revelation to Megatron. Who had seen him naked in the bath? He nods once, slowly, unsure what to do under the Lord's scrutiny. 

"Are all Iaconians this… Small?" He asks, and Orion dares to sense hesitancy in his voice. 

"No, my Lord," After all, his sire is almost six feet taller than him without his extra plating, "I take after my carrier." 

And what a shame that is, to take after a common whore. 

"Well," Megatron said motioning to his desk, "I've put a few things there for you to look over if you're feeling better. If you need the cycle off, or the heat is too much, please go rest." 

This time it's Orion whose optics spiral open to their highest setting. A day off? After failing on his second day? Megatron is an odd mech indeed. But by now he's starting to suspect that it's not just Megatron, but the whole damned keep that's so overly accommodating. Knockout, the seamstress, Jazz, was any of them aware of how things were usually done? 

"I am fine," He barks, and then adds, "Thank you." 

"Oh. You're welcome."

Orion nods and returns to his desk. He sets up and immediately throws himself into the work. It's mostly just ledgers that need to be double counted to make sure there's no differences between the keep’s income and net profits for the season. It's tedious work, but easy for an Archivist. 

He finishes half before Megatron notifies him it's time for dinner once again. He stands, stretching out to an impressive height. He looks even more imposing like this, with Pax's reduced height and the Warlord at his full height. He's sure Megatron is taller than his sire. 

Something long-neglected stirs in Orion. It's an emotion he's familiar with yes, but one he's never acted upon outside of the inner sanctum of his own room with the door firmly locked. It stirs in him like it did that one scandalous night when the mech from Rodion kissed his cheek. 

_ Oh no.  _

Orion thinks immediately back to the different filing systems that Dai Atlas taught him back in the hall of records. Yes. The most boring thing he can think of. He can't let list leech into his field. Not only will Megatron know but the whole keep will. So Orion thinks about the differences in the duodecimal system and alphanumeric. Boring. Definitely nothing enticing there. 

Orion is too embarrassed to make small talk while they walk to the mess hall. Megatron Doesn’t seem interested in it either so Orion Pax doesn't feel too bad about it. 

The mess hall is warm, and there is still a shimmer in the air but Orion doesn’t feel like he's going to faint any more. He walks in, turning to resume his new spot next to Jazz when an arm ceases him from going any further. 

Deadlock releases him almost as quickly as he had grabbed him. The mech is so rough around the edges that its not likely he knows how to apologize verbally, but Deadlock's subdued reaction is all Orion needs to see to get the message. He pushed the Datapad to Orion and then taps the bottom of the letter. 

“Is this neat enough?”

The signature is legible, Orion thinks at first. It's slightly slanted, and some of the strokes are wobbly, but they’re all the same size. He nods smiling up at the mech. 

“Your penmanship needs work, But it's an amazing first try,” Orion says, and the war frame preens under the praise, “Come sit with me again tomorrow morning and we can start with reading.”

“Oh,” Deadlock flushes, “You were serious about teaching me?”

“Of course!” Orion smiles brightly, noting how he has to look up at Deadlock now and not down. 

Deadlock waves a little awkwardly as he goes to sit at the head table. He waves back at him,and then returns to his seat at Jazz’s side. 

“Hey! Pax,” Jazz claps his shoulder as he sits, “Looking a lot smaller now huh? Gave us all a scare at lunch.”

“I’m fine,” He sighs back at the warrior, “I’m sorry for worrying everyone.”

Vortex looks him over, no doubt examining his bare frame. He feels a little self-conscious, but it's better than overheating again. He rationalizes that his important bits are covered and since everyone around him is naked, he has nothing to really be ashamed of. 

“It’s impolite to stare,” He says, puffing out his chest in defence. 

Vortex goes a navy shade of blue and stares down at his food again. 

“Oh come on OP, you have to know how you look” Jazz nudges his side playfully. Orion is just starting to get used to being touched so frequently but he notes how nice it is. 

He does know how he looks; small. He doesn’t comment on it though and instead takes a sip from the bowl in front of him. 

They speak over their fuel. Dinner is a longer affair than the other meals in the day, as most duties have already been completed for the day. They sit and speak, and Orion is enraptured by the tales the warframes tell. Vortex speaks of interrogations, thankfully leaving out the bloody details, and Jazz reminisce about travelling through Helex and fabrics they sell there.

When the gossip comes around to him, Orion pauses, “Well, I don’t have any daring tales myself. But I know a lot of good stories. Have you ever read 'The Tale of the Mech in Black'?”

“The Kaonites don’t really have written stories,” Jazz says, shaking his helm, “I’ve never heard of it.”

Orion clears his vocalizer, and sets the scene, “Well, our story takes place in the moors just outside of Nyon, where the mist is so thick and full of sodium it can disrupt audial receptors. Out on the Mercury swamps there's an old manor. It sits on the sunken wreckage of the manor built before it, having sunk down into the marsh below. Once upon a time it had been owned by a countess and tended to by a hundred mechs; guards and garden keepers alike. Now, it sits empty--”

“Why?” The mech beside Vortex asks, staring at Orion's intently. 

“Well, I’m getting to that part. That's part of the mystery. Our protagonist is one Viscount Sidehigh, who had inherited the estate after a distant relative had passed. The manor was much larger than his own, and he intended to take the estate as his own, so he set out to go inspect the building to make sure it would not sink into the moor. But moor’s are tricky things, and when Sidehigh arrived, he found himself stuck as the tide had come in for the day, and the road was flooded. He was stuck until the morning--”

By the time he’s almost done the story, there's a crowd gathered around their section of the table. Orion is motioning with every event, swishing his fabric like the gown of the Mech in black. He stands only once, to act out Sidehigh dragging a sparkling’s frame from the marsh. He holds an invisible frame, cradling it as a carrier would. By the end, he has such an enraptured audience that some warframes are genuinely gripping their seats. 

“But the Mech in black, The countess would not be satisfied, not even with her child returned to her,” Orion says softly, letting the tension build as his audience pieces together what that means for their protagonist, “Her voice echoes through the halls of the manor, ‘I will never forgive.’”

“Oh no,” a mech in the crowd whispers, “SideHigh’s sparkling is on the next caravan.”

Orion nods, “Sidehigh waits for his sparkling to arrive at the edge of town. The first carriage comes over the hill, shining bright in the sunlight. And though Sidehigh’s spark soars at the sight of it, it soon turns to dread. He watches in horror as his sparkling jumps out of the carriage and starts running down the hill. He watches because his pedes can not carry him fast enough to save his sparkling from being crushed under the wheels of the carriage.”

Jazz balks at him, mouth agape, “That's how it ends!?”

Orion smiles, taking the final sip of his fuel. Someone passes down a tray of sweets and Orion grabs one to reward himself, He nods, “And so the estate sits, still empty, the Mech in black’s spirit killing any sparkling that enters the small town in the moor. She had sadly long gone insane with her grief.”

“Is… does the manor still stand?” Vortex asks. 

“Some say it sunk into the moor, like the estate before it. Some say it still stands, but it and the town have long been abandoned,” Orion answers, “Oh come now! Half of your war stories don't have a happy ending! Why can't mine?”

The crowded grumbles, but Orion knows he's captured their imaginations. He watches them disperse, having finished their fuel while he was speaking. He takes a bite of the jelly and his plating flares in pleasure. Orion hasn’t been allowed to eat sweets since he was young, and the jellied energon has just enough Ethylene glycol to take him back to his sparkling hood. 

He chokes on it when the crowd has thinned enough to expose Megatron standing at the back of the crowd. 

He drops the sweet because the only other option is to stuff it in his mouth, and that is not proper etiquette. He brushed his mouth off as well as the Warlord approaches. He stands and nods to Megatron, "My apologies my Lord, I lost track of the time. We should get back to work--" 

Megatron steps forwards until he's direct across the table from Orion. He holds up a servo, halting Orion before he can apologize again. His optics are soft, almost fond in a downwards slant. 

"Megatron," He corrects. 

"Lord Megatron--" 

"Just Megatron," He says, "I am not fond of titles and Starscream is the only one that calls me Lord. And he only does that because he knows it pisses me off." 

Orion swallows, "Shall we return to work then, My-- ah, Megatron." 

Someone behind him whistles, and heat floods up to Orion's audials, "Your Megatron?" 

Orion all but scurries back to Megatron's office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such wonderful comments!


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion Finally gets to feel fields

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all soo much for the comments. I'm sorry I didn't respond to them last night, I kinda had a break down
> 
> ANY WAYS here's the chapter. it's a little short, but that's because tomorrow's finale is long

“Scribe!” Someone calls and Orion from across the room. 

He looks up at who has called him, and it's a warframes he's come to know as Oil slick. He runs up to where Orion is sitting at the head table tutoring Deadlock. Orion pauses his work, and Deadlock stops reading aloud as the mech comes up to them. 

"My name is Orion Pax," He says softly. He knows the mechs around here give each other nicknames and 'scribe' is much better than 'Bastard'. But still, it's the principle of the thing. 

"Orion," Oil slick says, "Damus said he asked you for a romantic story yesterday. How about something about the thirteen tonight?" 

Orion smiles, "Sure! I've been meaning to tell 'Adaptus and the Squid Beasts'. But perhaps tomorrow. I'm busy tonight." 

Orion's schedule brings him great joy nowadays. Morning tutoring with Deadlock and whoever wants to learn to read. Then he works with Megatron until lunch eats and returns to work. At dinner, someone requests he tells a story, usually he has a request ahead of time. Orion sits with Jazz and gets to tell his favourite stories. Megatron always comes to listen, and Orion takes great joy in the times he can get Megatron to catch a smile, or even get him to scowl at a particularly tense moment. 

Oil slick bounds off, a pep in his step as he heads out to morning training, so Orion turns back to Deadlock. The assassin is scowling down at the datapad Orion has brought him, trying to figure out the Glyph at the end of a sentence. 

"What Glyph does it remind you of?" He asks. 

Deadlock's frown deepens, "It looks like 'flight' but it's got a flick at the end of it, with an upwards curve."

Orion nods. He reaches over and scrolls up on the datapad and points to another glyph, pointing to how it curves into a flick motion at the end of it. 

"'Mechanical'," Deadlock says aloud, scrolling back down to the glyph he doesn't know, "Flight. Mechanical. Mechanical, Flight. Seeker! Seeker."

"Exactly," Orion says and sips his fuel. Deadlock is a surprisingly fast learner, and eager as well. He suspects it has something to do with the fact he's waiting for a reply letter from the mystery mech he had sent one to a few weeks ago. 

It's adorable that he wants to read it all on his own. 

Megatron raises from his seat and gently taps Orion's shoulder as he passes. It's become a signal between the two of them. All it takes is a tap and he knows Megatron needs him for something. Usually, it's work.

Orion rises behind him, throwing back the rest of his energon, "Keep reading. Come find me at lunch if you find any more you can't figure out yourself." 

He has to run a little to catch up to Megatron. His legs are much longer than Orions, but he doesn’t mind. He does have to make sure the light tunic he's wearing today doesn’t catch on anything as he passes past other mechs. 

“You have a procedure today,” Megatron Says as they walk, “I wasn’t notified until this morning.”

“Oh, My apologies, I believed Knockout would have notified you earlier,” He apologizes sincerely. He makes a note to remind SOundwave to check in on Megatron while he’s in the medical bay. 

“Nonsense,” Megatron says, then goes silent. Orion begins to worry for a moment, that he's said something wrong. But as they turn the corner he finally says something, ”... Are you alright?”

The thought that Megatron was concerned about him is surprising enough that he stops walking. He’s been here a few weeks now, just over a month if his memory serves him right. He’s a scribe. Nothing more, nothing less. A monarch or even a Warlord should never care about a simple scribe like that. Ultra Magnus never did. Primus, he barely cared for his firstborn son. 

Megatron stops only three paces in front of him, and Orion is faced with another crisis of faith. 

“I’m fine,” Orion says softly, “It’s a small procedure. Nothing important.”

The warlord had been more than understanding when he had discovered how small he was. He didn’t know if he would be so accommodating if he found out he had been born defective. He decides it best to not push his luck. He is just coming to love his new life here, he won't do anything to risk it. 

Megatron stares at him in the hallway, a frown on his faceplates, “How small is small?”

Orion shakes his helm, “Small. I’ll be back to work with nothing but a sore side tomorrow morning.”

That persuades the warlord, and tension bleeds out from his frame. Orion didn’t know he had been holding it but now it is obvious to him. His shoulders that were held so tightly sag in relief. The scowl on his face loosens to his normal neutral expression. 

“Knockout is a good medic,” He says stiltedly, “You’ll be fine.”

The scribe knows that. But he gets a slight suspicion that the warlord is not trying to convince him of that. 

* * *

The next morning Orion is sore. He wakes up in his own berth and has vague memories of the general Breakdown helping him back to his room. He’s tucked in tightly, in the warm furs of his berth. The warmth of the day is already chasing away the freezing bite of the night cycle. His sideburns as he sits up. 

It’s not so bad that Orion can't walk, though he does take it easy. He chooses a loose loincloth for the day, and a shawl to cover himself until the keep warms through completely. He doesn’t mind the fact it hides the pale weld on his side, either. 

Being a scribe is not a physically demanding task, but walking down from the wing where his rooms are to the dining hall takes most of his energy. By the time he's reached the large room, he's desperate to sit down. He steps into the main archway, be lining it for where Jazz is sitting as their usual spot when it hits him. 

_ Everything _ hits him. 

Like a tidal wave, he can sense every mech in the room's electrical fields. The installed hardware lights up sensors Orion Pax never knew he had, and he can feel  _ everyone _ around them. 

Jazz is content, pleased with his morning fuel. Scrapper, who is slightly closer, is annoyed with someone. Damus seems to be pleased with himself. And so on and so forth. He can feel them all, their fields bumping up against his own, reacting to the sudden Surprise and duress in his own field. 

When knockout had explained to him that he in fact had all of the required sensory work for an EM sensor, Orion agreed only because everyone else on the keep had one. He didn't want to be at a disadvantage, and it felt like a good way to see if mechs were honest. It had, at the time, had absolutely no downsides. 

Now, it's overwhelming. It feels like the whole room of mechs is pressed against him, pushing on different parts of his plating. It’s way too much. Orion Pax reels back from the room, turning out of the grand archway to lean on a wall far enough away to avoid  _ feeling _ anyone else. He debates running in and grabbing his fuel and then taking it to Megatron’s office to eat in peace, but doesn’t reach a decision before another field enters range. 

_ Concern. Curiosity. Care.  _

Orion looks back towards the archway under the arm he’s braced on the stone wall of the keep. Stood at the entrance to the dining hall, Megatron is staring at him with kind optics. Feeling just a single field is easy, and its calm nature wraps around him like a blanket. A vent he was holding eases out of his frame, and Orion gives a lopsided smile to the Lord. 

“I’m alright,” He says, straightening out to stand, “The new hardware is a little hard to handle.”

“Is it a mod? Knockout didn’t put anything from Shockwave into you did he?” Megatron says, stepping up to Orion and planting a servo on his back. Warmth radiates from it, and Orion feels his finials warm slightly. 

He hopes Megatron can’t feel affection in his field, but he doesn’t know how to squash it down when Megatron is so close, “No. No. It’s standard equipment. I’m just unused to feeling what everyone in a room is feeling.”

Megatron blinks at him, “...What?”  _ Concern. Curiosity. Confusion.  _

Oh. Well, the cat is almost out of the bag anyways. And he is technically no longer defective, though he still needs time to adjust to it. Its still embarrassing, but he says it outloud, “I lacked an EM field sensor suite. Knockout was kind enough to install one for me. I probably should have taken some time to adjust before eating in the Dining hall with everyone else.”

Megatron goes silent for long enough Orion begins regretting telling him the truth. Then, his servo leaves Orion’s back and he begins to think he’s said something wrong. 

“Wait here,” Megatron says as he pulls away. Orion watches him trot back into the dining hall. He doesn’t even think about leaving, not after a direct order. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. The warlord comes trotting back, a bowl of energon in each servo and a small plate of sweets balances on his forearm. It catches Orion off guard, and he watches Megatron nod in the way off his office. 

“We can eat in my office, come,”

Orion follows along, reaching up to take the plate of sweets so they don’t fall as they descend into the lower levels of the keep. Megatron even slows his pace to make sure the scribe can keep up with his smaller legs. It’s these little kindnesses Orion is starting to see in the Warlord that makes him wonder what he’s like under all of the stoicism. 

Opening the door for both of them, Orion moves to place the sweets down on Megatron’s desk when the warlord stops him, “No, no. Those are for you. You could probably use the extra fuel anyways.”

This time, it’s Orion’s turn to freeze in place. 

“Don’t act so surprised. You always steal a sweet after dinner, everyone knows you enjoy them.”

Slowly, Orion takes the plate and puts it on his own desk. Megatron walks past, placing one of the bowls on Orion's desk as he passes. Sitting down at his desk, Megatron sips his own fuel, picking up a datapad and looking over it. 

Realizing he has taken the Warlord away from his comrades at the head table, Orion tries to make himself good company for the Warlord. Orion sips his fuel and decidedly doesn’t start his work for the day just yet. 

“Thank you. I didn’t know I had been so obvious,” Orion smiles at his Lord, “Also, thank you. I don’t think i would have been able to eat in the dining hall without passing out.”

Megatron puts the datapad down, “You will adjust to it. Eventually, you can just shut it out.”

"It seems hard to imagine," He says, as their field overlaps into a content blanket over the room.

"I imagine there are few things you can imagine Orion Pax," Megatron hums, and takes a large gulp of his fuel, "not with the way you tell those stories." 

Orion feels the tips of his finials warm slightly, and he can tell by the change in Megatron's field that he intended to make Orion embarrassed. Kaon is full of surprises, and a warlord teasing him is just another one to add to the pile. 

"I'm glad you enjoy them," Orion takes a sweet and pops it into his mouth. He let it melt into a syrup before swallowing, "It's a high honour to have someone of your station come to listen every night." 

"Not really, I'm gladiator much like the rest of them."

Orion pauses. He knew from rumours that Megatron had ascended from a low caste, taking power rather than be given it as a birthright. But it still seemed like such a far fetched idea even though. It was magnificent. He knows deep down that any of the luck he's had in life was because he looked so much like his sire. It's admirable to see a mech claim power. 

"You're a monarch now," Orion says, "You're not supposed to equate yourself with common mechs." 

"And why not?"

Orion looks for an answer in his processor but the one he comes up with is one he knows Megatron won't accept.  _ That's just how it is.  _ He knows that an argument, but the concept is so ingrained in Orion's very being he doesn't know any other way of life. 

But he does now. Orion isn't treated like a bastard prince any longer. There are no noble titles here in Kaon, just mechs serving a purpose. Megatron leads, Starscream organizes, Soundwave takes care of communications. Orion teaches, he organizes datapads, he gets to tell his favourite stories at dinner. 

And Megatron comes to watch them because he enjoys them. Not because he's obligated by rank, or is trying to win any favour. The mechs in Kaon are too honest for that. 

"You know. You're right. You're the Warlord of Kaon and you can do as you Primus damned please," Orion beams. Quietly, in the back of his processor, he repeats the line again, this time to himself. 

_ You're the Warlord's scribe and you can do as you Primus damned please _

"Frag right I can," Megatron smiled back at him. Their fields rose together, crashing against the other in pleasing waves. 

With his field melding in with Megatron's, the scribe starts to understand what he's been missing. It's a whole new form of communication. He knows exactly how Megatron feels about him, there's no hiding, no lies, no disappointment. 

In fact, at the very edge of Megatron's field is affection; Genuine, Bright and warm. Orion didn't know he had even been looking for it, but there it was, waiting for him like a secret boon. The more he feels it, the more he wants to chase it. 

_ That. That's what he wants,  _ he realizes,  _ I never want to see the day that leaves Megatron's field.  _

"Well, mister warlord, I'd like to remind you the delegates are leaving this morning. We should see them off," Orion reminds him. He takes the last of the sweets onto his glossa before picking up his work for the day. 

"I should. You're going to stay there and not drain your energy running around the keep. Starscream's in charge of gathering everyone needed," Megatron corrects. 

"Will you say goodbye to Vortex for me?" Orion asks, "I wanted to this morning but, well…"

"I will. Don't worry Orion," Megatron says, "Anything for you." 


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion finds home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, they've changed again because I'm a sucker for porn.

The wet season passes. Thunderstorms roll into the salt flats, and the electrical current feels like static in the air. Acid rain rarely falls, but on the days it does, Orion downs his full armour again and walks amongst the Warframes in their cloaks. They always warn him when one is coming as if they're worried he'd forget and accidentally run out into the rains. 

He's thankful when the season ends, and summer begins. Kaon is hot year-round, but the summer brings with it an almost weekly heatwave. Most days all Orion can bear is to wrap his thinnest fabric around his waist and pin it in place. But Jazz is kind enough to take him to the east wing of the keep where the bathhouse is. And though Orion can't bring himself to bathe there with all of the other warriors, he's taken to waking before the sun rises and letting himself soak in one of the smaller baths. 

He gets better at using his field as well. He learns quickly how to shorten the range in large crowds and how to block out anything too overwhelming. It's a blessing really. 

Kaon is a blessing. At some point, Orion can't tell when, he stops being The bastard prince is Iacon and starts being Orion Pax, the scribe, the teacher and the storyteller. He writes his carrier once or twice, and they share stories of both courts, but Orion can't bring himself to want to go back to Iacon. 

The summer season comes to another benefit as well. There's an upcoming solstice, and apparently, the type of thing Kaonites celebrate. 

The week building up to the celebration is louder than usual. Servants bustle around decorating the windows with gemstones so the light from the sun filters into the keep in a rainbow of colours. It reminds Orion of the crystal gardens in Praxus with how colourful it is. Their fuel changes as well. The tangy fermented Energon is replaced with Crystal broths, serves with spiced energon, just as spicy and warm as the air around them. 

And with all these changes come the gossip. 

"Heard Vortex is taking the medic apprentice to the solstice," Jazz tells him at lunch the one day, "And Deadlock's secret lover is supposed to be arriving the day before." 

Orion didn’t know it was the kind of celebration one looked for an escort for. Orion runs through his choices and finds there's no one he can think of to take to the ball that night. 

After lunch Orion takes a moment to search out the seamstress once more. He finds him hand sewing an array of gemstones to the hem of a gown. There are assistants running around him rolling out bolts of fabrics. Megatron is there too surprisingly, looking over the head seamstress’s delicate work. 

“Am I interrupting?” Orion asks. 

“Yes,” Megatron grumbles, not even bothering to look up at Orion, then, to the seamstress he points to the delicate gem work, “Are you sure that's the right colour of sapphire?”

The mech looks up at Orion and sighs loudly, “Yes, Megatron I am. Excuse me, I have someone else to serve.”

Orion smiles, “Sorry! I’m just here to pick up a tunic.”

Megatron looks up at him, brow furrowed. Then as he registers who Orion is, his glare drops immediately. His field pulls in before Pax can pick up on why he’s so agitated, so he tries to focus on an assistant bringing his new tunic to him. The seamstress points out a few things on it, showing Orion how it attaches to his plating before turning back to Megatron and the gown. 

There's an odd smug satisfaction hanging off a few mechs in the room, but the scribe can’t pick out the reason for it. 

“Thank you,” Orion says to the assistant. 

“Return if it needs any alterations,” the head seamstress says. 

Orion nods, though he has no doubt it will be a perfect fit. He smiles at Megatron, “May I assume you’ll be late returning to work this afternoon then?”

Megatron’s optics are wide, his servos playing with the hem of the dress. Orion has experience reading mechs even without the use of his EM field but if he didn’t know better he would assume that his Lord was nervous for some reason. 

“Yes,” Megatron manages, “No. sorry. Ah, I’ll be in the training grounds for most of the afternoon.”

Orion turns to go, waving to the mech as he left, “Well then, I’ll have the guard’s reports ready for you for after dinner.”

Megatron manages a nod. 

* * *

Orion starts to suspect something is going on when there's an extra seat added to the head table. 

He only notices because Starscream makes a streaming fuss over the fact he's been moved a seat away. There's a new, empty seat in his place that the seeker seems to take personal offence to. He makes a scene at every meal, tossing his servos up and threatening to throw the thing out into the training yard to be used as a practice dummy. But for all the hot air coming from his vents. Starscream never actually touches the object. 

Orion knows what it means. In fact, it's extremely exciting in one way or another, though that excitement turns sour when he considers his own feelings. 

Thinking that Megatron may actually be announcing a courtship at the upcoming solstice is surprising, to say the least. There had been no mechs visiting from neighbouring kingdoms to present bachelors to him. So Megatron must have chosen a mech within the city, or perhaps they are arriving just before the festival? 

Still, watching Starscream throw a temper tantrum at lunch is good entertainment. 

Even if the realization that Megatron is taking a consort tastes sour on his glossa. 

* * *

Orion can't decide on a mech to bring to the festival. Deadlock is awaiting his mech from Iacon, Jazz is taking another warrior, Starscream is accompanying his trine and Soundwave has no interest in matching with anyone Orion knows. It's as if he's missed his window of opportunity, lingering too long on looking at decorations rather than finding an escort. 

There are plenty of warriors who are going alone, Orion will not be the only one by himself. He'll have more dancing partners anyways. He is popular, he's sure he won't be without that night. 

There are lots of dresses in his wardrobe. Surely the seamstress has blessed him with too much attention. He's always loved underthings, and Orion picks out a shift and a corset in a beige satin. It reminds him of dressing for the massive balls in the royal court. 

Orion takes his time, making sure the plating that shows beneath his underdress shines. It is only midday now, but the festivities start at the lunch hour, and Orion has no intention to be late. He works quickly, making sure the corset is tight enough to support his back, but not so much as to compress his internals. 

There's a knock at the door as he ties the lacing at the back of his undergarments, "Come in!" he yells. He expects Deadlock or Jazz but in sweeps the seamstress. 

Orion is surprised to find a new gown in his arms. He spares a glance down to the one he had picked out, a plain baby blue gown as to not overheat himself again. Then, he looks to the one he's been brought and questions the servant. 

"Is that the dress Megatron was working on?" the scribe asks. 

"A gift for you," He responds, laying the gown out on the berth. 

A gift. Orion steps closer to look it over. It's definitely in the kaonic style; thin straps with no back. It fitted down to the thighs then splays out, with a modest train. It's purple satin is jewelled in rubies and saphires at the neckline and then again down at the dress's hem. With it, the Seamstress presents clasps that look like vines to wind around his finials. Orion looks closer, to see small crystals. They must have been imported, seeing as coloured crystals can not grow in the salt. 

"Well," Orion swallows, his spark spinning wildly. Part of him hopes-- dares to dream that he may have an escort tonight after all. 

He smiles, rolling his shoulders back, "Well then, I'll have to change my corset to something more fitting then, won't I?" 

* * *

Orion did not know the keep had a ballroom. There were still many twists and turns to the massive fortress he did not know. He had plans To meet Deadlock at the main hall, to go down together to the ballroom. Of course, the scribe has ulterior motives; the transport carrying his mysterious friend had arrived and Pax wanted to see the mech first hand. 

He makes sure the train of the gown doesn't catch on anything as he turns the corner. And to Orion's Surprise, both mechs waiting for him are familiar to him. 

"Ratchet!" Orion calls, breaking into a jog to meet them, "I can not believe it's you!" 

Ratchet and Deadlock look just surprised. The Marquess speaks first, "You know each other?" 

"I delivered Orion," Ratchet crossed his arms, the suit he's wearing creasing around his joints, "He used to sit in my office and read medical journals until his sire came to get him." 

Orion Pax turned to Deadlock, "Wait, how old are you exactly?"

Ratchet smirked, "Older than I am if you'd believe it. Soldiers tend to have more frame overhauls. But, enough of that. You seek to be doing well--" Ratchet's optics drew down his gown, "-- very well actually. When I heard you'd been shifted off to Kaon I thought the worst." 

"The Lord Megatron has been nothing but kind. Moreso than the court in Iacon," He speaks honestly, bringing a servo up to touch the gemstones on his dress. He thinks for a moment, then continues, "I wrote to my carrier. I didn't assume there was anyone else who wanted to hear from me." 

They fall into comfortable conversation as they walk up to the festival room. It's so nice to speak to an old friend, and he gets to tease Deadlock while he's at it. Their field radiates affection and enjoyment. 

When they enter the ballroom maroon optics are already on them,  _ on him _ . There's a throne sat at the back of the room and Megatron is draped in it with a flute in his servo. He's draped in a black dress that shimmered in the sunlight. 

Orion looks up as they enter, to find the roof of the ballroom is glass, letting in every stream of sol's light in, and filters through precious stones to cover the room in every Colour. Mechs are already eating around the perimeter, and he can spot Knockout and Breakdown spinning in each other's arms. 

"You should go to him," Deadlock says, nudging Orion's side, "He's starring." 

Orion swallows built up lubricant in his throat, and steps across the room. He holds his helm high, meeting the Warlord's gaze. When he makes it before the throne, having dodges a few dancing couples, he bows at the waist. 

"None of that," Megatron hums, "this is not one of your Iaconian parties. Come, join me on the dance floor before it becomes too rowdy." 

Orion Pax offers a servo, and Megatron takes it, depositing his flute of Energon on the side table. They move onto the floor together, Megatron taking the leading position due to his height. As the music picks up again, they begin to sway, wrapped in each other's arms. 

"You should have asked me to accompany you," Orion hums up to Megatron, "I wouldn't have snubbed you." 

Megatron looks down at him, Optics set on his, "I was told Suitors in Iacon usually present gifts to mechs before asking to court them. I wanted to make my intentions completely clear so there would be no misunderstandings." 

That spark in his chest that dared to hope sprang to life. He flushed, his finals pinning back in embarrassment. He thinks for a moment, that he is entirely beneath Megatron. He may be a Prince, but he is a Bastard who had been given away as tribute. But this is Kaon, and Megatron has clearly stated that the rules did not apply here. 

_ Hope. Caution. Affection.  _ His field all but sang.

"There aren't, misunderstandings I mean," Orion swallows, "I only hope a scribe would be enough for you." 

"A scribe, a storyteller, a teacher. A mech with a mind for diplomacy," Megatron corrects, dipping Orion down deeply and then tips his back up to continue swaying, "Then tell me I am yours." 

He swallows, "I was yours the moment I was sent from Iacon." 

Megatron's expression sours, "As property. And I have no interest in owning Slaves Orion. You know this. You've been a free mech since you arrived." 

Orion shakes his helm, "No, I believe I lost myself to you one afternoon in your office. I was so scared you had caught lust in my field that I started reciting numerical orders in my processor." 

The Warlord laughs loudly and it echos gains the high ceilings of the hall. It's a beautiful noise, almost as beautiful as the field that ruptures with excitement and relief. It's intoxicating, and Orion lays his helm against Megatron's chest to be as close to its source as possible. 

"You have never once treated me like property, only asked that I did what work came naturally to me," Orion shudders his optics, "I do not ever want that to end. Loving you too has come naturally to me, and I'm surprised to find that you want that of me as well." 

"I want you as you are Orion," Megatron says, as the song comes to a close. 

"Then you have me, Megatron. And I only ask for you in return." 

"You have me."

And Megatron does have him. Wrapped up in the Warlord's arms, they dance another waltz together, and Orion finds himself surprised his partner knows such a formal dance. It's a welcome surprise of course, Orion does enjoy dancing, after all, even stuffy formal ones. Orion lays his helm down on the broad chest in front of him, engine purring softly in pleasure. 

At some point, engex is introduced to the party and things pick up quickly. The music becomes faster, with loud drums and less cytar. They dance madly, winding around one another. At some point, a flute of the potent liquid is pushed into Orion's servo. It makes his helm swim but in a pleasant way. 

Eventually, somehow, Orion finds himself down a corridor in the east wing. It's unfamiliar to him, but there's a large, warm servo around his own and so Orion does not fear. Despite being in a cooler part of the fortress, he feels hot; his lines are alight with excitement of a new variety. 

They push through massive studded doors, and every part of Orion turns ablaze. 

The berth room before him is beautiful. There's a canopy of maroon fabrics over thee berth, and some are drawn shut to keep out the harsh sunlight. It pours in through a massive window, where there is a sitting couch with pillows draped over its arms. There's a desk as well, covered in unorganized datapads, each one scribbled on in what Orion thinks is poetry. 

"If we are caught," Orion swallows, "There will be a scandal." 

Megatron laughs and it makes Orion's spark swell, "Soundwave had been telling me to berth you for weeks. There will be no scandal Orion. Everyone watched us leave the party together." 

_ Good.  _ Orion thinks  _ I want them all to know we love each other.  _

Megatron brings him to the berth and he's all but vibrating with anticipation. There is nothing holding them back, they can… They can. 

Megatron sits on the edge of the berth, now slightly shorter than Orion. He is pulled between the Warlord's legs. There is no hesitation, no more words. Only lip plates on lip plates. The Warlord guides him, parting his lips and letting Orion explore to his spark's content. They spend a wonderful moment there, and Orion treasures it like the most precious of gifts. 

Megatron lays back, pulling Orion with him. He's pulled up to sit on the Warlord's hips, and there their overheated arrays touch between their dresses. 

Orion slips his strap off his shoulder, grinding down slowly. 

"Tease," Megatron groans, shifting enough to start stripping his own dress off. 

Orion shrugs, "You may be surprised to know it's in my coding. I'll have you wrapped around my digits yet, my Lord." 

"You already do. Primus, you already do, Orion Pax." 

There's a bit of awkward fumbling as they both undress. Perhaps it's the engex or the excitement but Orion is not ashamed to be naked in front of his lover. He is oggled, optics raking down his frame and Orion wants that from Megatron. He wants to be looked at like he is some sublime creature to be thoroughly debauched. He looks at Megatron much the same because the Warlord is the picture of perfect strength and beauty. He sees him nude daily, but his frame has not lost its appeal in all this time. 

Orion crawls back onto his lover, curious as to what exactly to do next. Whatever it is, he is eager, more than he ever thought possible. He wants Megatron now, wants whatever he will be given.

"I want to ride you," Orion decides. His carrier had said that was the easiest way. He can dictate the pace-- can easily pull off if it causes him pain. 

Megatron moans at the words alone. His codpiece folds back, and he pressurizes immediately. It's proportional to Megatron's size and as such, is large and imposing, but Orion is determined. There are small nodes along the underside of it, and a ring of barbs at the base that do make Orion a little nervous. 

Reading his field, Megatron catches on, "They do not hurt, I promise." 

Trusting his lord, Orion lets his valve panel snapback as well. A few drops of fluid fall onto Megatron's thighs as he sits up to sit on the spike in front of him. 

Orion has touched himself before but never interfaced. He takes a moment to slide two digits in himself and scissor them, testing himself to make sure he was lax enough. Of course, he is. With all of the dancing and kind words, how could he not?

The tip of Megatron's spike is blunt against his valve opening, and Orion has to apply some pressure for it to pop into his valve with the wet noise of dripping lubricant. The feeling sends shocks up Orion's spine and he has to pause as to not throw himself over the edge so quickly. 

"Are you alright?" His lover asks, optics wide and his lip pulled between his fangs.

"I'm better than you could possibly know," Orion gasps as he shifts down a little lower, "I just want to savour the moment." 

"Take your time." 

Orion slides down further, and Megatron's spike comes up against his seal. Orion hesitates only a moment, he's already made up his mind by now. 

Megatron's optics spiral even wider if that's even possible, "Are you still se--" 

He plunges down past it in one swift stroke, cutting his lover off. He gives a strangled groan, and Orion stops while the small sting dissipates into nothing. It really wasn't bad, barely even an inconvenience. And if that's all he has to 'suffer' for this, then he would gladly do it a hundred times over. 

At last, their plating meets at the base of Megatron's spike. Orion gasps, cycling air like his life depends on it. The barbs don't hurt, just as he was told. But they do grip his valve mesh as if they do not want him to leave. That's alright though, Orion does not want to leave either. 

And then, he rocks up and down Megatron's spike, chasing that release that had been so close at the start of all of this. He does not stop, does not dare to slow as the Warlord gasps and moans underneath him. It's a magnificent sight; such a powerful mech panting in desperate need as Orion takes his spike over and over. Like the affection before it, he never wants it to end. 

Servos come up and grasp Orion's faceplates gently as if he is a gift from above. Orion has been to temples before, but this; the reverent look on Megatron's faceplates and the overwhelming need is like no other worship Orion has ever seen before. It's honest and open in a way he wants to keep all to himself. 

Pleasure swells with the new possessive need he feels for the Warlord. He will have the mech, will keep him at his side and they will be happy together. It's more than a bastard could ever hope for. Now that he has it, he never intends to let go. 

As Orion grinds his node down again, overload catches him by surprise. His valve clenched down, and the added grip pulls Megatron right over with him. The barbs at the base of his spike swell, locking them together as fluid fills Orion's valve, overwhelming him with the mere sensation. Slowly, he comes to a stop, and Megatron releases him. Orion flops beside the Warlord and they both pant for a minute, staring up at the top of the berth canopy. 

"You are sealed," Megatron says, still a little out of breath. 

"Was," Orion says, "And it is my decision to whom I lose that seal to." 

"I'm honoured," Megatron rolls over and gives Orion a charming smile. There's pure joy in his field for Orion to soak in. 

"As am I. Thank you, for the dress." 

"No need. It suits you wonderfully. Would you like to return to the party? They should be heading down to the baths for the evening by now," the Warlord says, wrapping an arm around Orion's waist. 

He thinks for a moment, "I'll need a towel. I may want to be nude in front of you, but the whole army is a little much still. You should come bathe with me in the mornings when we can be alone." 

"Hmmm. You're turning out to be more of a tease than I first thought," Megatron mumbles, pulling around flush against his chest, "We will go down in a moment. Let me hold you a while." 

Orion can't think of anything better, "Anything you want, darling." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! whaaaaat. thank you all for all of the love and support! Your comments mean the world and I was shocked to see so much enthusiasm for all of this!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome and I love to hear from you all!


End file.
